Shadow of Memories Ch2
by Zanteh
Summary: Bloody Sunset - Suddenly.. this. The story is different, this time Timmy tells what he's feeling. And it isn't pleasurable. M for gore/violence. And references to Yaoi and paedophilia.
1. Chapter 1

**Shadow of Memories - Ch.2**

Bloody sunset

It would have been better if I had died that night, don't you think?

I can do nothing. I'm good for nothing. You don't need me. That's what you say. You want to throw me out of this house, you say. But you say so because you come back home tired, because you don't know what to do, because you feel stressed, today another customer refused to buy the house you were selling, today was just another day, another dreadful day for you. Today you wanted to die, too.

I listened to you crying in the dark, Mum. I was crying with you, you know? You were alone, back then. You're always alone, Mum.

Mum, Dad doesn't listen to you, you know well. You keep on shouting, but he doesn't listen to you at all. And now you're here, looking for a way to collect enough money, because you don't know if you'll be able to pay all the bills. Mum, don't you wish I would die? I know you do. Don't deny it. I saw the look on your face when you found me bleeding on the bathroom floor. There was hope in your eyes. It hurt more than the scars, the doors I had open on my skin. I wanted my soul to be free, Mum. Because you know, I'm caged in this Life. And inside I bleed ceaselessly.

You're shattered, Mum. And I saw the eyeholes under your puffy red eyes, today. You cried. We cried. Alone.

Sitting behind you, Dad wasn't driving to school today. I don't go to school any more. Thanks to my idiocy, you would add. You wanted me to see another of your doctors, those people who have studied, who know anything about the others, who don't listen a damn thing but want to judge you. And you believe them, don't you? Because your son is crazy, your son is mad, you son needs to have his head checked, your son is just unperfect, a disgrace and the friends that you don't have sit next to you only to say you're right and to pretend to comfort you, poor sweet innocent thing. They're lying, and you know it. But you prefer lies to silence, don't you?

You prefer their lies to my silence. Because my silence hurts. My silence is a plea for help.

Dad nodded to you, I remember now. That's right, I'm still a kid, but you have to choose: either a baby-sitter or a psychiatrist. That's right, a psychiatrist, one who gives you pills, you tells you're mad, who thinks you're worth less that the dirt under the trash bin at the end of the road. And of course, a baby-sitter would be in danger with someone like me and after all, what can she do? She's just a poor girl who has to take care of me while you're not at home. You almost started to cry when you said that. It hurts knowing you've never been with me, doesn't it? It hurt me even more back then. Being alone when we were in the same room, in the same car, even when sitting at the same table. I'm still alone, Mum. But Loneliness hurts me no more. In fact, it's the only pleasure I have left.

"We can't afford both of them, we don't have enough money" you said. We don't have enough money for nothing, Mum. And that look on Dad's face, he's thinking of our neighbours while driving to a sick maniac who will give me paradise in pills. But only for an hour or two, he can't let people be happy too much. He's a doctor, not a saint.

Mum, don't look so startled. He wasn't listening to you. He never does. He's never done it. Why so surprised, then?

I know you'd love if I never existed, Mum. No pregnancy, no babies, no lack of free-time, no baby-sitters asking for money, no bills, no school, no bad marks, no self-injury, no doctors, no.. problems. Am I a problem, Mum? Am I a mistake? Sometimes I feel so. Like I was a mistake. And I'm pretty sure I am, since you keep on repeating that I'm a complete failure.

You know what, Mum? I've never wanted to die. really. There is just no point in wishing for your own Death, when you're already dead.

--

You were watching us from the giant mirror behind me, weren't you, Mum? Dad was outside smoking, I could feel it in my bones. He'd never smoked, but for some reasons, he wanted to start. And now he can't stop, even though cigarettes are so high-priced that if he was addicted to alcool, probably he would squander less. You were behind me, Mum. I felt your trembling eyes on me, your eyes studying me, inch after inch. Please, turn. Turn, or I might... I might...

The man in front of me was smiling brightly. He wanted me to feel at ease. Poor idiot. I can't remember what he told me, Mum, but please, ask. Ask me, sometimes, how I feel, instead of asking the others to do this for you. Ask me what I want, tell me what you want from me, what you want for me. Because I feel like I'm walking this Earth like a dead man.

Were you watching when he took that little box out of his drawer? Those pills. He placed them near me, pushing them nearer and nearer. What did he expected me to do, to take them, to crave for them? I crave for nothing. He was smiling, you know? I wasn't. But of course, you were behind me. You didn't want to see my face, did you? Like I had no face. Puppets have no face, Mum. I'm not a puppet. I'm a corpse. Puppets have a owner. I have none. I belong to no-one.

I stared at those pills blankly. They were the colour of the rainbow. The rainbow. I remember seeing it. It was beautiful. You and Dad said that under the rainbow there was a leprachaun with a pot full of gold. Once I walked from the start to the end of a rainbow. I found nothing. You lied to me, Mum. But don't worry, I wasn't angry. Just mortified. Anti-Cosmo was by my side. He loves to meet humans. Our way of thinking amuses him.

You know what he said when the doctor gave me those pills, Mum? He laughed. He looked at me with those gentle green eyes and whispered softly. "If you took them, you would be dead."

I took them in my hand with much delight of the old man and scattered them on the desk with much delight of my godparent. I sat quietly, waiting for his reaction. He did nothing, but just smiled.

"What a pity. I'd have payed to see the angry face of this muddy pig." I laughed. Anti-Cosmo was so random, sometimes. He knew he was driving me mad. He knew he was killing me. He knew I wanted to die so badly. He knew this all, and just didn't care. He knew this all, and still stayed by my side. As I saw him walking off, I stood up and followed him like a good kitty. The doctor tried to stop me, but my blank expression made him lose every hope. I have no hope.

Mum, why didn't you want to look at me when I came out from the studio? I'm your son, your child, your baby. Fine, I cut myself, but I'm still a part of you. Am I not, Mum? Don't you want me to be yours any more? My pillow is so cold and wet with tears, but it's the only comfort I have.

--

Mum, you're making dinner, now. You know you're pretty? But Dad's coworker is prettier than you. That's why he isn't dining with us tonight.

"Dad is having an important meeting. He will be home soon. He's a busy man, he always works." Why do you keep on telling you lies, Mum? You know you'll regret it. But for now, those lies help you not to burst out in tears in front of me. I don't care if you cry, Mum. I would do nothing, but tender you a napkin. And wait for your reaction, while Anti-Cosmo laughs.

Dinner is ready now, Mum. What did you cook? I stare at you as you dance around. You look like a ballerina, you know, Mum? But you move uneasy, like the orchestra was out of tune and your partner wasn't in place.

"Mum."

You look at me shocked. When was the last time I begged for your attention? Mum, why don't you answer? Are you scared this may be a dream?

"Mum. There is Death in my plate"

I can see you turning pale like a porcelain doll, Mum. But you served me a corpse. May I ask you why?

"It's meat, Timmy. You need it." You reply. Everyone says so, so why don't saying it, too? Everyone agrees with this staement, then it might be right. It might be wrong.

"Why?" I need no other words. I see him smiling slightly, hiding in the dark shadow in the corner, a few steps away from us. He doesn't need to come closer. He likes seeing his victims writhe. It makes him feel powerful. Dizzy. Light-headed.

"I... You need it to grow up. It'll make you strong and.. healthy and..." You manage to say. You're not so convincing, Mum. You should try harder. Maybe Dad would appreciate it. Or just decide to ask for divorce. He hates when you complain about your headache, you know?

"It's a corpse." I state. I see the red liquid slowly mixing with the frying oil. And the smell, it penetrates my nose and goes directly to my brain. And my mind, I can hear a cry in my head. And tears would start forming, if only I had tears left.

You look at me with watery eyes. Are you asking for help, Mum? I'm sorry. I'm a failure. I can't even help myself. "Timmy, I... if you don't want it, I can cook something else or-..."

I cut a small piece of it with the knife and pierce the cooked flesh with the fork. I raise it fast, I don't want any thought to stop me. It's Death, I'm going to eat Death, there will be Death inside of me and it will make me die a bit more. It's in my mouth now and I start to munch. Slowly, with my eyes shut, because I don't want to see the truth. But then, I taste that flavour. That same bittersweet flavour that flooded into my mouth that night. The taste of my own blood. Of my own Life.

I spit it on the spot. I am shaking. I don't want to shake, but I feel so cold and numb, please Mum, hold me in your arms, please don't let me be alone, please, look at me, I'm your son, don't stare at the floor, don't... I sigh, but you can't hear it. Otherwise, you would be here with me, saying it will all be ok, lying to me, but sweetly. And I do prefer sweer lies to this silence. Because my silence is a constant whisper. I know what it says. And it hurts.

I keep silent, now, Mum. I keep silent while you don't say a thing. We're like sad statues, Mum, sad statues in an abandoned garden. And no-one will ever find us, no-one will make us pretty again. There is no-one for us, Mum. They're all gone.

I stand up, Mum. But don't worry, I'm not leaving. I just hate to see that there's Death in my place, Death in your eyes, Death inside of me, Death all around me. I'm walking out of the kitchen, Mum, so please, do cry, now. But don't stay there in the kitchen, Mum. There are knives in the drawer and I won't be there to tell you you're doing wrong. Because I wouldn't tell you anything. I have nothing to say. Or probably, I have so much to say, that I'm sure you would be soon bored to listen.

I'm steeping to my bedroom, Mum. I'm not coming back. There is no smile on my face, Mum. Because tonight he wants to eat me.


	2. Chapter 2

"I'll open my mind today. And my head, too."

Timmy took the knife from the kitchen and stabbed his own skull. Once. Twice. Thrice. Death.

–

The lovely chirruping of the birds outside woke him up. Spring was coming. And nothing had changed.

Mum was smoking nervously her fifth cigarette while cramming all the documents in her suitcase. Work. Work, till your head aches. That was the only thing she could think of. No breakfast on the table, no sweet hello, no lift to school. Nothing, but indifference.

He didn't care. Neither he hoped it was a sunny day, or a rainy one. He just avoided looking at himself in the mirror while slowly getting dressed. Those scars sent cold shivers down his spine.

School, once again. His parents didn't want him alone at home. "It's bad for his mental health" one of those knows-all said. And Vicky... Vicky was just sick of wasting her life with him. Anyone was sick of wasting their Life with him. He himself was.

Suddenly, a soft little pain ran along his frail body. Sorrow and Sufferance hid themselves under his clothes. He shook his head trying to make his creepy thoughts fade away and dashed outside the room.

Don't look in the mirror, don't look in the mirror, don't look in the mirror. He kept repeating walking past the kitchen. No waving hands, no goodbyes. Silence. Silent silence between them.

The doorhandle was in his hands now, but why was it so difficult to turn? And the door was heavier, the light too striking, the sun burning his skin. Still, there was no sun outside, but only a dull cloudy sky above him and fog all around him. Anything was grey and boring. No colours, no joy, no Life.

His celestial eyes half-closed as he dived into the misty labyrinth. The wooden door behind him was shut. And a scream like slaughtered lamb filled the empty air.

–

Little clouds of sadness disappeared into the fog as he breathed. He gasped, as he felt a sudden burden placed on his weak shoulders. He couldn't give a small glance that he already felt coldly warmer. He was behind him, smirking. But his gaze was lost into the thick fog, his smile directed to his dark ghosts.

Timmy looked down, bowing slightly. He was shaking. He quivered even more as one of his sharp claws was placed on his right shoulder. He turned a little to see a pathetic smile having his way on his godparent's face.

He whimpered as his nails sank into his skin and his collarbone felt like breaking. No words came out of his pale mouth, but in his watery eyes a desperate plea was begging him to stop.

He snickered snobbishly and let him go. Shifting his hand behind his back he push him forward, just in front of the yellow bus. Timmy's eyes widened at the sudden appearance and a small shriek pierced through the air.

And then anything went black.

–

Dad was furious. And frightened.

He could barely hold the cigarette in his shaking hands, walking nervously up and down the hospital corridor.

The doctors had no pity for him. No-one has anything for anyone. The nurses simply stared at him and giggled. _Bitches,_ he thought, lighting up another cigarette.

His mobile phone rang suddenly.

"_Hello, Mr. Turner?"_

"Yes, speaking."

"_It's the police here. The dismembered corpse in your house is your wife."_

Silence.

"_Mr. Turner?"_

Silence.

"_Mr. Turner, don't do anything you would regre-"_

"I won't."

"_Perfect, Mr. Turner. Now, would you please tell me where you are, so-"_

"Please..." His voice was trembling.

"_Mr. Tu-"_

"Please... tell me this is a nightmare... Just a fucking nightmare..." Bitter tears were falling ceaselessly down his cheeks, on his dirty coat, on the dirty floor.

"_Mr. Turner, take a hold of yours-"_

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU-... you...you." The mobile fell from his hands smashed into a million pieces on the floor. And so did Dad, crying out his pain with his head in his hands.

--

Anti-Cosmo laughed hysterically but softly, peeking from behind the curtain. He loved watching people in pain. And being the cause of their sufferance made him feel proud of himself.

'He's sick. I need to tell him he's sick. I want to tell him he's sick, he's wrong, he's a psychotic bastard, but... He's right. In his eyes you can see an immense power, an immense sadism, an immense... hate.

I'm not sorry for you, Mum. You've got what you deserved. Not that I had ever wished for it, but... things happen. And my cruel lover knows it well.

He brings misfortune to the ones like you, Mum. The ones who don't care about the others. He helps them and then... he makes them fall. And when they're all alone in the dark night, he let them cry alone. And it hurts being alone, Mum. It hurts so much I'd rather die.

And...'

Anti-Cosmo stole the sheets he was writing on and started reading out loud. He had a puzzled look on his face, which slowly turned into an offended pout. Somewhat hurt, he ripped the sheets into many little pieces.

Timmy hid himself under the covers, shaking visibly. Cold cold cold and void inside of him, but also fear, terrible fear of what was going to happen.

"Timothy..." A gentle yet upset voice reached his tiny ears.

"...Timothy, look at me." But he kept hiding under the white sheets.

"Timothy, I said look at me." He curled up into the white bed, wishing to vanish right then and there. Suddenly, the covers were torn into pieces by one expert claw.

Timmy held his breathe. It was a nightmare, just a nightmare. He would wake up and anything would be perfect, anything would be... cruel.

Burning terrified tears were running away from his red half-opened eyes now that he was covering his face with hungry wet kisses. And they felt so cold on his skin... while he was freezing inside.

Please, stop, please, please! Tell me this is just a nightmare, this is just a horrible nightmare. Tell me I'm safe with you and cuddle me and tell me anything will be fine. Please, tell me that, Mum, and come back to me, come back and tell me to wake up. You're not dead, I know, you can't be dead, I need you now, please, come back to me and help me, please! Mum...

Wake up, Timmy! Wake up! Wake up.

–

Timmy blinked. Anti-Cosmo was floating above him, sipping his tea from a white porcelain teacup nonchalantly. And evil smirk was painted on his face as Timmy sat up on the vanilla-white bed. He heard him whisper a good morning, but there was nothing good about being in a hospital room alone with him.

Timmy kept silent. He didn't bother trying to understand where he was. If it was his godparent's will, it would be caged there all Eternity. There was someone arguing outside and he could almost hear his father's voice. He didn't want to see him. He didn't want to see anybody. Lazily, he rested his head on the pillow.

"Mum died." He casually spat out. Hearing his soft silky voice, his godparent raised an eyebrow complacently. And took another sip of tea. "You killed her." He pointed out. Anti-Cosmo smiled evilly behind his teacup, staring intensely at his godchild.

"You killed her." He replied calmly, pouring himself another cup of his beloved drink. Closing his empty eyes, Timmy hid himself under the warm covers.

"Cold." He whispered guiltily.

"No, Timothy. Real."


End file.
